literature – Page 47 – elancharan gunasekaran

i’d like to fix my worn knuckles with comet bone and witness a small apocalypse by the hour

there is ash within the lungs of expired gods the words unsaid the curses undone and raw magical energies caught in its own loop ballooning until the day it explodes and unmakes the cosmos

trees gossip of mortals and wily beings predestined to eat a fruit from the gardens of paradise and witness the doom of worlds within their frail minds

an ordinance filled with silence strikes the land not to deliver instant death but a slow and agonizing trauma as serpentlike miasma slither and coil locking living matter and death in a waltz of toxicity

in the ash fields of war worms combust in prayer as pilgrims dig trenches and lie in wait to pass judgement on heretics

clouds fold words of sorcery into thunder and storm forced by mortal lips

slow deliberate and sensual the purple bruise erupts across the autumn sky

paper boats vanish between the pause in moonlight devoured by the river’s darkness others believe that man’s creations have taken a new path one unseen by the eyes of the living

you’ll find the tender spot if you slip psychic fingers into the chasm dark as you feel around or go deeper with care

autumn waves crash and bring screams of the coming storm